The New Deal project that preserved
Kentucky’s recipes
BY KIRSTEN CHERVENAK
Her cabin is shrouded in darkness, all quiet save the soft snores of her children snuggled tightly together in their bed. She wakes and dresses for the day, creeping gently across the wood floor, avoiding the boards she knows will groan under her weight. After packing her lunch pail, she pulls on her wool coat, grabs the satchel of books, and hoists herself onto her steady mule. Before even the rabbits emerge from their burrows, she begins the eighteen-mile journey to the library.
***
In the 1930s, the Pack Horse Library project emerged as a program that could satisfy New Deal goals of literacy expansion and job creation by paying local women (and a few men) to deliver books on horseback through the mountains of eastern Kentucky. Due to meager funding for new reading material, the Pack Horse Librarians often circulated scrapbooks they assembled by hand, makeshift volumes filled with content from magazines, damaged books, or old pamphlets. For over a year, I have been hunting for examples of these scrapbooks, connecting with other scholars, scouring digital records, and traveling to archives around the country.
Today, I’m on meandering Kentucky backroads, looking out over cliffs that descend into rocky hillsides, driving past houses with worn siding and American flags waving gently in the wind. The serpentine road curves to reach the parking lot of my destination, the Kentucky Department for Libraries and Archives. I’ve come to search for one small volume: a scrapbook created sometime between 1936 and 1943, containing recipes gathered by women who participated in the Pack Horse Library project. I am endlessly captivated by the women who created these resources, the same ones who traveled long distances on horseback to share a kind of knowledge that often goes unacknowledged in historical contexts. The more I learn, the more I believe that studying these scrapbooks can provide valuable information about how women received, shared, and preserved local foodways in eastern Kentucky. So far in my research, I have accessed six scrapbooks, two of which contain recipes. Here, I hope to find one more.
Children gather around a librarian riding a mule in rural Kentucky
In 1935, sixty-three percent of Kentucky’s population did not have access to public libraries.
With the first trot, the librarian breathes in the morning scent of new spring leaves mixed with wisps of smoke from nearby chimneys. As she and her mule carefully descend, a faint gleam of orange works its way over the tip of the nearby mountains. With every moment of growing light, they gain confidence, navigating the rocky creek beds and soft, mossy paths. By the time the sun is high and the dew has evaporated from young blades of grass, she reaches the dirt road that leads into town. She passes small, identical homes from which people are emerging to start their days. One of these has been turned into a library center. She slows the mule to a stop and ties him to one of the posts outside.
Inside the small one-roomed building, three walls are lined with shelves of novels, textbooks, and magazines. The librarian greets her supervisor, Mrs. Richards, then begins unloading last week’s books onto a shelf, making note of any repairs needed before they can circulate again. This done, she joins the other Pack Horse Librarians for their weekly update on this month’s storybook hour and last month’s circulation numbers. Collectively, they circulated over 4,000 books in March—a bit less than the previous month, but still a great accomplishment.
After the meeting, some of the women sit at battered tables and desks to repair books; others flip through worn issues of Good Housekeeping, Life, and Woman’s Home Companion. Turning the pages, the librarian finds a recipe for dried peach preserves and another for mush cornbread. She clips both from the magazine and pastes them into a notebook, which already contains several recipes she has cut and pasted. This notebook—or scrapbook, as she and her fellow librarians call it—will be circulated with the other books once she is finished. The librarian does her best to find dishes she knows can be made in the homes along her route, but she also chooses recipes she’s never seen before, some that sound interesting or exotic.
***
In 1935, sixty-three percent of Kentucky’s population did not have access to public libraries, and literacy rates ranged from nineteen to thirty-one percent. In many areas of the country, expansion of library access was achieved through bookmobiles—cars outfitted with shelving and books that were driven to remote areas. In the mountainous region of eastern Kentucky, however, this was impossible. Infrastructure had not been built for cars to traverse much of the Appalachian Mountains, and many locals navigated along creek beds rather than roads to get to and from their isolated cabins. To reach communities for which a library was inaccessible, books were carried on horseback, on muleback, on foot, by boat, or by any other means necessary.
A branch of the New Deal, the Works Progress Administration (WPA) was established to create jobs through “useful and desirable projects.” As library extension was deemed eligible, the WPA funded the salaries of the Pack Horse Librarians at $28 per month. Importantly, the WPA could provide wages only for labor, not for administrative costs or material goods. If a county wished to establish a Pack Horse Library, officials had to first find a central library location to house the books. This could be any space that was available: a school, a store, a post office, a courthouse, a church, or even a home or an abandoned shed. A local sponsor was needed to pay for this space as well as its upkeep and utilities; oftentimes the local board of education would take this on. The books and magazines had to be donated as well, or purchased with donations. Assisted by the director of Kentucky’s Library Extension Division, Lena B. Nofcier, in coordination with the Parent Teacher Association, reading materials were collected throughout Kentucky, and also sent from states around the country.
Many donated items were old or in disrepair. Magazines in particular were worn, with pieces or whole pages torn out. In response to inadequate funding and such high demand for books, librarians tried to avoid throwing anything away. Rather, they salvaged unusable items by creating scrapbooks. Because these volumes were assembled by the librarians themselves, the content could be curated to include what was most valued or requested by their patrons. A manual written for WPA Pack Horse Library projects by Philip R. Blodgett says of the scrapbooks, “Make them according to demand, always trying to answer the questions most frequently asked.”
Librarians made scrapbooks dedicated to recipes, quilting patterns, foraging advice, nature photos, Bible stories, hygiene instructions, and more. Library patrons were inspired: they, too, had knowledge they wanted to share. Women began giving recipes and quilting patterns to librarians for inclusion; others created scrapbooks themselves for librarians to circulate throughout the community.
***
After the weekly meeting and repairs, the librarian fills her pack with a new array of books to distribute before venturing out. Her route carries her through the mountains and can include up to 100 miles of travel a week. Her first stop is the Fordson Coal Company in Wallins Creek, where she collects and distributes reading material to men whose clothes, faces, and hands are all covered in black soot. Some gratefully accept as many books as they can carry; others, skeptical of government programs, do not approach her and will not meet her eye. The librarian does not press those men to take a book, though she always offers. Leaving the coal company, she mounts her mule, and they navigate along the creek to their next stop.
Librarians organize materials on library shelves
In the archive, after reading through folder after folder of letters, newspaper articles, book lists, and reports dedicated to the Pack Horse Library, I turn to yet another box. Inside, I find a small blue notebook, the cover of which features a picture clipped from a magazine. A young girl with short wavy hair and rosy cheeks smiles, her outstretched hands offering a bright-red apple. Behind her, a Christmas tree glitters with ornaments. The caption says, MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAVE A STARKING. Opening to the first page, I read the words I have been searching for all day: WPA PACK HORSE LIBRARY—MCKEE—JACKSON CO, DISTRICT #3. Not only have I found a Pack Horse Library scrapbook, but I’ve found one that contains recipes, collected from the women of Jackson County.
As I carefully turn each lined page, I notice all the recipes are written in the same handwriting, a slanted script that’s sometimes hard to make out. Most recipes are written in a standard format, with the ingredients at the top and instructions in a paragraph below. Others are more stream-of-consciousness, with few measurements, as though the recipe writer is simply telling a friend how to make apple dumplings. Many recipes have women’s names and locations attributed to them: Lucy Allen of Maulden has offered her recipe for “old fashioned ginger bread,” while Lizzie Bond of Egypt has provided instructions for sour milk cake. A section at the back of the scrapbook features “Household Hints” and advice for “Around the House.” WAXED PAPER IS BEST FOR LINING THE BOTTOM OF PANS IN CAKE BAKING TO PREVENT STICKING, the first hint reads. SAVE BREAD WRAPPERS FOR THIS PURPOSE.
After mapping the Jackson County locations listed with these recipes, I realize that they follow the path of a creek bed. This could indicate a Pack Horse Librarian’s route. With further research, I learn that Lorene Gabbard, who included both her biscuit and pie crust recipes in the scrapbook, was the supervisor of the Jackson County Pack Horse Library in 1936. I wonder if Lorene collected these recipes and wrote them in this book, or if they were collected on another librarian’s route, with Lorene acting as more of an editor. Her inclusion of her own recipes is noteworthy: recipes for apple dumplings and dried apple rolls call for biscuit dough but do not include instructions for how to make it, and the two recipes that follow her pie crust recipe are for rhubarb and “old time pumpkin pie.” Perhaps she hoped to make these pie and apple recipes accessible to readers who didn’t know how to bake biscuits or crust. Though I can only speculate, the order of the recipes feels intentional, and the addition of the “household hints” section is the first of its kind I’ve seen. If Lorene was in fact the scrapbook’s editor, she seemed to really care about delivering information in a way that was practical, free of shame, and mindful of her community’s limited resources.
Pages from a Pack Horse Library scrapbook
Throughout my research, I’ve come across many instances in which patrons of the project showed admiration and reverence for their local Pack Horse Librarian. In one human interest story archived alongside monthly library reports and letters, librarians are referred to as “angels in disguise”; other testimonials reveal that many considered the Pack Horse Library the most beneficial program of the WPA. Librarians would often read to illiterate households, carry messages from relatives, or call on a doctor when needed. They gained the trust of their communities by providing resources that celebrated local assets, curating knowledge that was requested and culturally relevant. I have yet to find accounts that specifically describe what the scrapbooks meant to those receiving them, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery: the fact that other women were inspired to write down their own recipes to share suggests they found these resources valuable.
As these self-published works circulated, they served to form new relationships—words and recipes connecting women often separated by isolationism and treacherous terrain—and to preserve identity. A 1937 letter from Elizabeth Fullerton, a director in the WPA’s Professional and Service Division, gives an example of this: “One of their scrap books was made of various kinds of wrapping paper on which were written recipes for cooking various ‘mountain dishes.’ This scrap book has grown as each mountain woman receiving it, added her own favorite recipe—some more than 100 years old.”
Certain writers of the time led people of Appalachia to believe their foodways were not worth preserving, that they were unhealthy and less civilized. Home economists underlined class differences through food, sometimes targeting staples, like cornbread, which women were instructed to replace with wheat breads, which were considered higher in nutrition but were more expensive and difficult to access. By showing interest, Pack Horse Librarians communicated to the women of eastern Kentucky that their local knowledge did have value, and that it deserved to be shared.
The recipes in the scrapbook from Jackson County provide a specific picture of eastern Kentucky foodways and surely do not cover the breadth of what was on the Appalachian table. What they do show is what was valued by these women at this particular moment in time. The opening page of the book reads, THIS BOOK CONTAINS ‘AULD TYME’ COOKING AND CANNING RECIPES. Most entries are for cakes, pies, and sweets, but several that stand out to me cover preservation methods. There are recipes for canned greens, canned pumpkin, blackberry jelly, canned beans, sauerkraut, and pickled chickens—staple items that would have been harvested or gathered locally, then preserved for winter. The recipes teach the reader how to can these items, an important skill for households without refrigeration or easy access to groceries. The recipe for canned beans, written in conversational language, reminds me of being a young girl, snapping half-runners from my great-grandparents’ garden. GET FRESH STRING BEANS, the instructions say. REMOVE STRINGS AND WASH. BREAK BEAN BETWEEN EVERY BEAN.
Pages from a Pack Horse Library scrapbook
She distributes as many picture books and youth novels as possible, taking note of which the children like best.
A family in rural Kentucky reads on their porch
Following the creek bed through a dense patch of forest, the librarian comes upon a small brick schoolhouse. On approach, she is surrounded by children of all ages. Before she can dismount, they clamor to tell her of the stories they have read in the two weeks since her last visit, reaching for her pack and asking what she has brought for them today. She distributes as many picture books and youth novels as possible, taking note of which the children like best. She then collects the old books from her last visit; she will distribute these to families as she continues her route.
***
When the United States entered World War II in 1941, funding for the WPA began being diverted to defense spending. The Pack Horse Library project was officially shuttered in 1943, but most resources were not collected or inventoried. Scrapbooks were likely left with patrons or moved with donated books to public libraries or nearby schools. As I read through the pages of the seven scrapbooks I have accessed thus far, I can’t help but feel I have a few pieces of a much larger puzzle. While reports suggest that more than 2,500 scrapbooks were made in eastern Kentucky before the spring of 1940, I have no official indication that more than these seven have survived, over eighty years later.
Selfishly, I hope more scrapbooks are out there to analyze and compare. I want the information in these texts to be preserved for future scholarship that showcases the importance of their preservation. In a time when information is so readily available, the tangibility of its journey from person to person can be lost. Holding these physical volumes in my hand, I understand the work and care that went into designing this knowledge for a community with limited resources. I see it in the small details—how the recipes are sequenced, hand-written notes on pictures, the little grease splatters that dot certain pages. Whether they’re gathering dust on a family bookshelf, buried in a box in a courthouse basement, or forgotten in an old county library, I’ve made it my mission to unearth these scrapbooks, along with the valuable knowledge within.
***
The librarian begins her ascent up the mountain, traversing peaks and hollows to reach one-room cabins similar to her own. Deep in a hollow with no other cabins nearby, she comes to a muddy path which leads to a worn hand-built fence. This fence surrounds a small wooden cabin with a slanted roof and a patchwork of siding resembling a ragged quilt. When she dismounts and climbs the ladder-like steps of the rickety porch, an old woman at the door invites her inside for some cornbread. The dusty dirt floor of the cabin leads to the open hearth where a crackling fire underscores the otherwise quiet room. Inviting her to sit, the woman pulls ears of corn from her apron, explaining that the bread is made with ears that are too hard for roasting. She grabs what she calls a gritter, a tool, the woman explains, made by repeatedly driving a nail through a piece of tin. She rubs the corn on the jagged side of the tin; mixes the resulting coarse meal with baking soda, salt, and water; then pours the mixture into a cast-iron pan. She places the pan in the hearth to bake.
The buttery smell of roasting corn fills the room as the librarian reads to the woman and listens to stories of her childhood. When the bread is finished, the librarian is served a golden slice with freshly churned butter. She dives hungrily into the bread, which is grittier and has more chew than she is used to but tastes warm and comforting. Later, with the handwritten bread recipe in her pack and an extra slice wrapped in cloth, the librarian mounts her mule and rides back toward home, all the while wondering: What other recipes remain hidden in these hills?
